


Paperwork

by RicochetRomance



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Chubby Kink, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, Rated to be Safe, Supportive Anakin, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Weight Gain, chubby Obi-wan, obikin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 20:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RicochetRomance/pseuds/RicochetRomance
Summary: The Council makes a decision, Anakin risks his life, and Obi-Wan tries to cope. Standard operating procedure is rarely this emotional.Please note that this is weight gain fanfiction - reader discretion is advised.





	Paperwork

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this one while working through a few personal issues, so it's a bit of a rollercoaster. 
> 
> Chubby Jedi fanfics are my therapy.

The mission had spanned weeks, and it had been as grueling as it was complex. Obi-Wan and Anakin had been tasked with breaking down an exotic animal trafficking ring in the Outer Rim, and had accomplished just that. First by negotiation, then by infiltration, then by sabotage, and finally – when all else had failed – by combat.

They had returned earlier that morning, exhausted and sore, and hadn’t even bothered to unpack their bags. In fact, they hadn’t bothered to do much of anything. The two men had simply flopped down on the living room couch, fully clothed, to catch an hour of rest before they were inevitably sent back into the field.

It had been back-to-back missions for what felt like the better part of a year, a grueling tour of the very worst that the galactic underworld had to offer.

Anakin and Obi-Wan weren’t about to complain. They were together for every damn minute of it, away from the scrutiny of the Council and the strictures of Temple life. They could display their attachment openly and honestly, demonstrating all of the affection that they so sorely deserved.

It helped that they made the absolute perfect team.

Speaking of perfect. “That Hutt must have jumped a foot in the air when I kicked in that door – tell me you saw it!”

“Yes, Anakin. I was there.” Obi-Wan replied flatly.

“And the way those Nexu swarmed when I broke the locks on their cages?” The younger man enthused.

“Yes, Anakin. I was there.” The older man rolled his eyes with exasperation. His former padawan always enjoyed reliving the highlights of their missions, but frankly, Obi-Wan just found it exhausting.

“Did you see that bruiser get crushed under the rubble when I dropped that support beam?” Anakin’s tone was eager, seeking approval, but his former master’s reply was less than complementary.

“Saw and felt,” Obi-Wan retorted. “In case you’d forgotten, that ceiling also fell on me.”

Anakin winced apologetically, but his tone was a defensive protest. “I thought you’d gotten clear!”

“I had.” The older man replied dryly. “Until I saw that bounty hunter aiming directly for your back. Surely you didn’t expect me to let him shoot you?”

“One shot is nothing I can’t handle,” the younger man smirked. “Or did you forget that I’m the Chosen One?”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, thoroughly exasperated by Anakin’s arrogance, however joking it may have been. “That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” His tone shifted, becoming soft and sad. “Not again.”

The younger man said nothing – he merely grasped the front of his former master’s tattered tunic and pulled him close for a deep, affectionate kiss. “Never,” Anakin breathed the word against the older man’s lips.

They both knew full well that it would happen again. Their lives were spent risking their lives, all in the name of galactic peace.

Cracked and weathered lips met again and again, their kisses soft and slow as they savored these few peaceful moments together. It was a stark and welcome contrast to their hurried, adrenaline-fueled encounters in the field. As they parted for air, Obi-Wan caught a mischievous gleam in his former padawan’s eye.

“Do you remember the look on that dancer’s face when she caught us backstage?”

The older man’s pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m not likely to forget.”

“I still say we should have asked her to join us.” Anakin smirked.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the statement - they both knew that the younger man was far too possessive to even consider sharing his former master. The older man pulled his former padawan close, hushing him with another affectionate kiss. They’d have more than enough time to talk on the next transport off of Coruscant.

As usual, their prediction came true. The two men enjoyed almost an hour of uninterrupted rest – or rather, of lazy intimacy – before they received yet another summons from the Council.

-

Obi-Wan cursed vehemently in Huttese. It was a phrase that he had learnt on his last mission, and it implied that the parentage of the individual in question involved a Bantha that had been inseminated with a vial of pond scum.

The curse was well-warranted. Anakin had been sent back into the field, without him. His former padawan was risking his life to track down some accursed Sith artifact, and he was stuck at the Temple doing paperwork.

Paperwork of all things!

Aggressively flipping a page of flimsi, Obi-Wan tried to release his frustration into the Force, but found that he couldn't. This was in no way warranted.

Certainly, neither man had submitted a complete mission report in the past five months, or a complete expense report in the past nine. Not to mention the hundreds of insurance forms that they had neglected to file, or the thirty-eight letters of apology that they had neglected to draft, or –

Well, perhaps it was warranted, but that did little to change the fact that his situation was frustrating beyond belief. Trapped behind a desk, buried beneath a veritable avalanche of datapads and flimsi, completely cut off from the one man to whom he’d become hopelessly attached.

Right now, the older man wanted nothing more than to be at his former padawan’s side. Their lives were spent risking their lives, but kriff it, they were meant to risk those lives together!

Obi-Wan winced at the vehemence of his internal outburst. Force, he was becoming nearly as impatient as Anakin.

The older man's stomach abruptly growled, interrupting his decidedly unsuitable train of thought. He would have plenty of time to compare his co-workers to the plaque deposits between a Rancor’s teeth after he'd eaten a decent meal. A glance at the chronometer, however, revealed that he'd missed his opportunity. The dining hall had closed hours ago, and Obi-Wan had been too frustrated by the banalities of paperwork to notice the time passing him by.

Speaking of Anakin, Obi-Wan was fairly certain that the younger man kept a substantial supply of food somewhere in their quarters – a supply that he occasionally referred to as his "apocalypse preparedness rations." The older man was also fairly certain that it was merely a stash of cheap, pre-prepared, pre-packaged junk food.

Under the present circumstances, however, junk food would be far better than nothing at all.

Thankfully, he was correct. The coat closet was practically overflowing with brightly colored packages of supremely unhealthy foodstuffs. Nearly all of the labels were unfamiliar to him, so he chose at random, sincerely hoping that Anakin’s taste in snacks wasn’t nearly as terrible as his taste in music.

Soon, Obi-Wan found himself tucking into a ridiculously large bag of garlic-flavored potato chips, while waiting for the microwave to finish reheating a box of unorthodox baked goods that were apparently called “pizza bagels.”

As much as he would have preferred to eat his undignified meal in a somewhat dignified fashion, he was painfully aware that these reports weren't about to write themselves. It would be far more efficient to eat while he worked.

Preoccupied with paperwork, Obi-Wan paid little attention to his meal. He failed to realize that, by the end of the night, he'd eaten enough to satisfy a family of three. He failed to realize that his stomach was achingly full, and protesting further with each bite. And perhaps most importantly, he failed to realize that his frustration had all but subsided.

-

He didn't realize it at the time. However, Obi-Wan Kenobi was far from a fool, and far from oblivious.  
The pieces fell into place a few days later, while the older man was reading a message that had been forwarded to his datapad. The message was originally from Anakin - an impromptu report - and though the tone was upbeat, the contents were deeply worrying.

Obi-Wan found himself reaching for a bag of oversized sourdough pretzels, beginning to eat as he read through the entirety of the surprisingly detailed report.

The Sith artifact was apparently located in a temple on an otherwise undeveloped jungle planet, which boasted no shortage of life-threatening dangers. 

A ravine, miles deep, spanned by only a single bridge - a bridge that had been partially on fire when Anakin had sprinted across it, pursued by a hostile tribe. A Krayt dragon, nesting in the dense undergrowth of the jungle - an irritable, fire-breathing beast from which Anakin had only escaped by leaping from the crest of a waterfall into a fast-flowing river.

Barely four days into the younger man's mission, and he'd already suffered two near-death experiences.

Under any other circumstances, Obi-Wan would have been irrationally worried. However, the savoury taste of these unhealthy snacks, the steady rhythm of his chewing, and the sensation of the impromptu meal settling in his stomach were all working in tandem to calm his troubled mind.

The effect was intriguing, but it still wasn't as comprehensive as he would have liked - perhaps a bit more would help?

Realizing that he had run out, Obi-Wan reached for a second bag before beginning to study the attached files. These new pretzels were chocolate coated, and each was easily the size of his palm.

The files in question detailed what was known of the planet's ecology and climate, as well as an incomplete history of the temple's construction and use. They were lengthy files, the sort one might expect from a mission briefing. Obi-Wan wondered whether Anakin had included them in an attempt to reassure his former master that he had in fact done his research, and that he was in fact prepared for his mission.

By the time he had finished reading, the older man had eaten his way through two more bags of sourdough pretzels, and started on what had to be at least his third chocolate bar. Rather than eating just a "bit more," Obi-Wan had mindlessly gorged himself. Again.

The older man felt uncomfortably full – almost painfully so – but also strangely calm. It was a meditative feeling, as though the fullness of his stomach was somehow centering his mind.

Loosening his belt, which had begun to feel unusually restrictive, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the towering stacks of datapads on his desk. Given the sheer amount of paperwork he had yet to complete, he was well aware that he couldn’t spare the time to meditate properly. Thankfully, it seemed that overeating was quite nearly as effective.

Under the present circumstances, he rationalized, there was no harm in finishing his chocolate.

And perhaps having a few of those peanut butter cookies.

-

The following month was characterized by seemingly endless paperwork, seemingly endless reports of near-death experiences, and a seemingly endless supply of snacks.

Obi-Wan continued to rely on his unorthodox form of meditation – anything to preserve what remained of his frayed nerves. Left unchecked for the better part of a year, his bond with Anakin had grown far too passionate and far too involved, and their abrupt separation had prompted symptoms of withdrawal that were worsening by the day. The anxiety, the isolation, and the sheer sense of loss were nearly overwhelming.

The older man could only hope that said symptoms weren’t affecting his former padawan even half as severely. On such a dangerous mission, he feared that even the slightest distraction could prove fatal to the younger man – a fear that did nothing to help his nerves.

And so, the meditation continued. Devouring boxes upon boxes of soft pastries while studying Anakin’s latest mission reports, entire bags of sour candy while filing overly complicated insurance forms, and every type of chocolate bar known to humankind while drafting reports of his own.

These so-called foodstuffs were roughly one molecule removed from being literal plastic, but they served their purpose.

Obi-Wan had begun to forgo his belt in the privacy of his own quarters. It was becoming uncomfortably tight, and he rationalized that comfort was essential to focusing on his paperwork. Even so, he failed to realize that steadily eating his way through Anakin’s entire apocalypse-ready supply of junk food was having an appreciable impact on his waistline.

That is, until the Council sent a summons.

Apparently, there would be a joint divination this afternoon. The Masters would work in tandem to foresee the outcome of a civil uprising on the planet of Zygerria, in the hopes that knowledge of the situation would allow the Jedi to negotiate a peaceful solution.

Obi-Wan intended to arrive early to the divination, in hopes of discussing Anakin’s mission with Grandmaster Yoda. These plans were briefly waylaid, however, by the older man’s belt.

“Accursed, stubborn, thrice-damned, Force-forsaken- !” The older man panted the words of frustration between desperate attempts to fasten his belt. Nearly two inches gaped between the ends of the garment, and he had already clenched his stomach as tightly as he possibly could.

There was nothing else for it. Lying back onto his bed – a bed that he so often shared with Anakin in both intimacy and in rest – Obi-Wan drew upon the power of the Force, and pulled.

Belt securely fastened, the older man immediately headed to the Council session. He studiously ignored how deeply and painfully the garment cut into his soft stomach, and how difficult it had become to catch a proper breath. His predicament was certainly embarrassing, but there was no time to dwell on it. The discussion of Anakin’s mission took first priority.

Thankfully, Obi-Wan still managed to arrive before his fellow Masters had convened. Drawing the Grandmaster aside, he voiced the concerns that had been gnawing at him for the past month. 

Had it only been a single month? Force, it felt like an eternity. 

“Master Yoda, I’m concerned about Anakin’s mission. His reports indicate that he’s been having difficulty, and I believe it would help if I joined him in the field.”

The Negotiator phrased his concerns as neutrally as he could, but the elderly Master seemed as unnervingly prescient as ever.

“Attached to young Skywalker, you have become?” Yoda inquired probingly.

“No, Master,” Obi-Wan lied, straight-faced and somber. “I’m merely worried about his chances of success. That artifact is a vital part of the Order’s history, and is far too dangerous to be left unprotected.”

There was no way in the Sith Hells that the older man was about to confess to the bond that he and Anakin still maintained, ostensibly a training bond that should have been severed years ago. There was no way that he was about to confess to their intimate, romantic relationship, which blatantly violated the core principles of the Jedi Code that they had both sworn to uphold.

Yes, he’d become hopelessly attached to the younger man – and he’d enjoyed every single moment of it.

Yoda continued to eye him skeptically as his fellow Masters slowly began to file into the Council chambers, and Obi-Wan had no choice but to drop the issue. 

He couldn’t risk their relationship being discovered. Not like this.

-

Another month on, and yet another morning without Anakin. 

Obi-Wan struggled awkwardly into his tunic, cursing the fact that the Temple tailor was on hiatus. 

The garment was tight around his shoulders, restricting the movement of his arms, and he was barely able to wrestle the already-strained fabric down over his prominent belly. Tugging a pair of breeches over his broad thighs and even broader hips, the older man forced them to fasten the only way that he could - using the Force itself. Needless to say, he'd long since given up on his belt. 

Fully - albeit uncomfortably - dressed, the older man reluctantly turned to examine himself in the mirror. He typically did so with vanishing rarity, having never been particularly vain, but the damage needed to be properly assessed. 

He had never been particularly vain, but Obi-Wan was nonetheless utterly humiliated by the appearance of his reflection. His body had become unreasonably soft. 

His formerly square shoulders had rounded and slumped, and his formerly toned arms had grown thick with fat. His undefined chest now curved prominently forward, settling atop the heavy curve of his belly, which had grown so large that it had actually begun to overlap his thickened thighs. 

It was utterly humiliating, but Obi-Wan supposed that he shouldn't be surprised. He'd been trapped behind his desk for nearly two entire months, spending day after tedious day working his way through seemingly endless stacks of datapads and flimsi. Quite frankly, the older man suspected that he had long since completed his own paperwork, and that he had been unwittingly tasked with completing the backlogged paperwork of the entire Jedi Order.

Settling heavily behind said desk, Obi-Wan both heard and felt the plastisteel chair protest beneath his weight. His pale cheeks flushed with abject embarrassment - Force, had he already managed to become too fat for the furniture?

Checking his personal datapad, the older man discovered that he had been forwarded yet another message from Anakin, yet another update on the status of his mission. Opening a bag of fruit-flavoured marshmallows, and marvelling yet again at the sheer amount of junk food that the younger man had managed to stash in the closets of their quarters, Obi-Wan began to read. 

Each report thus far had been deeply troubling, and yet somehow, this report managed to be the most troubling of them all. 

His former padawan's mission had taken a disastrous turn. The temple had been riddled with traps, many of which were impervious to the damage of a lightsaber and reacted violently to the Light Side of the Force. 

There were corridors lined with lacerating blades, bursts of searing flame that triggered seemingly at random, mechanical constructs that actively attempted to crush intruders, and countless other lethal surprises waiting around every corner. It seemed that the ancient Sith had been incredibly thorough in their safeguards.

The final trap had been the worst of all. The roof of the temple had collapsed, burying his former padawan in the ruins alongside the precious artifact that he had been sent to collect.

Obi-Wan stared in horror at the holographic screen, clenching it tightly in his trembling hands. 

Anakin was stranded countless parsecs away, on a wild and distant planet, trapped and injured beneath countless tonnes of stone. His former padawan was nearing death with each passing moment, and yet here he sat, duty-bound to his desk, expressly forbidden from coming to the younger man's aid. 

Or perhaps not. 

Scanning the next sentence of the report, the older man vehemently cursed Anakin’s flair for the dramatic. 

The younger man had managed to escape at the last moment, artifact in hand, boasting that there wasn’t a trap in the known galaxy that could hope to stop “the Chosen One.” 

Stuffing an entire handful of marshmallows into his mouth, the older man chewed deliberately as he attempted to restore even the thinnest veneer of calm. His efforts were largely in vain – the rockslide hadn’t killed his former padawan, but Obi-Wan was sorely tempted to finish the job himself. 

The remainder of the message was largely comprised of bragging recollections and sarcastic observations, all of which were as irritating as they were reassuring, and the older man continued to gorge himself as he read. When he reached the final sentence of Anakin’s report, however, he quite nearly choked with shock. 

The younger man would be returning in only a few days’ time.

Swallowing heavily, Obi-Wan turned his attention at his belly, which had spread generously into his lap as he sat. Barely even half-full after an entire hour of overindulgence, the soft orb of flesh was already straining the seams of his tunic to the breaking point, and pressing uncomfortably against the edge of his desk. 

Giving said belly an excessively hard and disapproving pinch, the older man winced with embarrassment – and perhaps a bit of pain. It would be impossible to rectify his situation before his former padawan returned, if it could be rectified at all. 

What would Anakin think? 

Fighting back a wave of anxiety, the older man reached reflexively for a bar of chocolate, but forcibly stopped himself at the last moment. No amount of comfort was worth worsening his predicament.

The younger man had always loved Obi-Wan’s toned body, but in the months that they’d been apart, he’d grown sloppily fat. He shuddered to think of what this development would mean for the future of their relationship, and their bond. Mere separation had nearly overwhelmed him with anxiety, isolation, and an aching sense of loss. If his former padawan were to sever that bond entirely – 

Well, the effects would be devastating. The Jedi were meant to eschew attachment in all of its forms, and in that moment, Master Kenobi finally understood why. 

He reached for the chocolate for a second time, and found that he simply couldn’t stop himself from taking a bite. 

What would Anakin think? 

-

When Anakin entered their apartment, returning home for the first time in months, he was surprised to find that the lights were off and the blinds were closed. A single datapad glowed blue in the darkness, illuminating the figure of Obi-Wan. 

The older man was seated at his desk, hunched forward amid towering stacks of identical devices. He made no move to acknowledge his former padawan, not even raising his head from his work. Strangely for the summer season, he was clad in his formal robes - oppressive layers of heavy fabric that should have been intolerable in the current heat. 

Concerned, Anakin placed a hand on his former master's shoulder, only for the older man flinch away from his touch as though it had burned him. 

“Obi-Wan?" The younger man began uncertainly. "Are you okay?" 

What in the Sith Hells had happened these past months?

In lieu of an answer, the older man placed the datapad aside and rose reluctantly to his feet. The robes that he wore were incredibly bulky, successfully hiding the majority of the changes to his body. Said robes, however, did nothing to hide Obi-Wan's face.

Anakin knew every inch of that gorgeous face by heart, and even in near-darkness, it was clear that something had changed. His former master's face appeared broader and softer, his formerly angular cheeks now plump with fat. There might even have been a hint of a second chin beneath his carefully groomed beard. 

"I can explain." Obi-Wan began hesitantly. 

Judging by the prolonged and painful silence that followed, it was fairly obvious that he couldn't. 

The older man's typically well-controlled Force signature radiated guilt and humiliation, and his stance was turned inward, as though he was attempting to minimize his frame. Before Obi-Wan could say something self-deprecating and harsh, Anakin interjected, his tone encouraging. 

"I like it." And he genuinely did. 

The younger man had begun his life as an indentured servant on a desert world. To him, weight signified only two things - health and comfort. His former master sorely deserved both. 

"I'd rather not be pitied," the older man replied defensively. The insecurity in his tone was heartbreaking, and Anakin was determined to change that. 

"Who said anything about pity?" The younger man retorted. "You're still sexy as Hell, Obi-Wan. Maybe even sexier now."

"Surely you don't expect me to believe that." His former master replied incredulously, his voice wavering with hurt and uncertainty.

"I'm going to make you believe it." It was a promise, phrased as a threat. 

Stepping forward, Anakin embraced the older man, kissing him passionately. Deepening the contact between them, the younger man began to strip away the layers of Obi-Wan's robes, appreciating the soft curves that lay hidden beneath. His former master had gained more weight than he'd first thought, but somehow it wasn't nearly enough. 

With difficultly, Anakin peeled away the older man's tunic, resting a comforting hand on the soft curve of his ample belly.

"Don't," Obi-Wan protested half-heartedly, but made no move to stop his former padawan. That confident and surprisingly gentle touch was everything that he'd been missing these past months, and he desperately wanted more. 

Still, the older man couldn't bring himself to relax, to lean fully into that touch. He was expecting the truth to come out at any moment now, for the younger man to express his abject disgust - but that moment never came.

Their kisses grew even more heated, the two men not breaking their passionate embrace for even a single moment as they stumbled down the hallway towards Obi-Wan's bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in their wake. It was as if nothing had changed.

Anakin lavished attention on every inch of his former master's comfortable form as they became one, in both body and mind. The Force resonated gloriously between them, restoring and strengthening their tattered bond. The older man could feel his anxiety fading, his insecurities no match for the younger man's overwhelming adoration and arousal. 

In that moment, Obi-Wan realized that his former padawan had meant every word. To Anakin, the older man was still in fact sexy as Hell, and he did in fact prove it - thoroughly, repeatedly, and at great length.

-

As the two men lay together, basking in the afterglow, the younger man lazily called upon the Force. A box of cupcakes settled on the bed beside them, and Anakin wasted no time raising one to the older man's lips.

Between murmured endearments, coaxing kisses, and affectionate touches, the pastry disappeared – bite by bite. Though understandably reluctant to admit it, Obi-Wan was enjoying every moment of this. He found that the flavour of these supremely unhealthy treats was intensified a hundredfold by the sheer intimacy of their actions.

Still. "You do realize that you're only making this worse," the older man observed dryly.

"No," Anakin smirked crookedly, mesmerized by the sight of his former master's indulgence. "I'm making it better."

"Look," he continued imploringly. "I've got the next month off, and you aren't nearly done with that paperwork. Do you want to see how far we can take this?"

Obi-Wan blinked, taken completely aback. "You're quite serious." 

In response, the younger man merely projected all of his raw, unfiltered emotions through their bond. His appreciation for the plush softness of the older man's body, for the way it yielded beneath his fingers. His arousal at the decadence of the older man's newfound weight, and the sheer indulgence that it represented. 

And above all else, he projected his overwhelming approval. Obi-Wan was gorgeous. Every inch of him was perfect, at any size. 

His former master couldn't help but smirk, his confidence restored by Anakin's blatant desire for his newfound body. "Well than," he warned smugly. "Don't say that you didn't ask for it." 

Obi-Wan slowly licked the last traces of the icing from the younger man's fingertips, sucking them clean. Then, he reached for a second cupcake, biting into it with a groan that could only be described as sinful. Anakin flushed with arousal. This was everything that he hadn't known that he wanted.

In the heat of the moment, it didn't occur to the younger man just how much weight - and how much sexual frustration - he was truly in for. Not that he was about to complain, not even once. 

The more Obi-Wan, the better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone for your wonderful comments and feedback on my other works in this series. Does this one live up to your standards? Let me know!
> 
> (Next story will likely feature mutual weight gain, because the only thing better than a chubby Jedi is TWO chubby Jedi).


End file.
